


Done

by Servena



Series: Witch!Gene [2]
Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Blood and Injury, Captivity, Fights, Gen, M/M, Magic-Users, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Minor Character Death, Mute!Gene, Muteness, Past Abuse, Slavery, Wandless Magic, Witches, witch!gene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2020-07-19 04:57:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19968406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Servena/pseuds/Servena
Summary: “Haven’t you heard? He’s up for the arena this weekend.”





	Done

When Babe enters the stable, he takes a moment to read the list with the work details for next week nailed to the door. He pauses, then reads it again.

“Hey, is this complete?” he asks his colleague as she walks past him.

“Sure is”, she answers shortly.

“I didn’t even know you could read, new boy!” the booming voice of the stable master sounds over from the end of the corridor.

Babe rolls his eyes, but turns his head away first just to be on the safe side. “I can read!”

He goes over the list again, this time tracing the lines carefully with his finger. When his colleague passes him again in the other direction, he says: “But he’s not on it.” He nods towards the far cage at the end of the corridor.

His colleague stops and sets down the crates she has been carrying. “Haven’t you heard? He’s up for the arena this weekend.”

“What? No way!”

“Sure is", the stable master says from behind. "Boss decided to cut his losses with this one.”

“But he’s been doing good work!”

The master huffs. “Minor stuff, barely enough to earn his keep. He was a risky investment from the start, have you ever heard from a witch that doesn't do incantations? At least he didn’t cost much. Good riddance, I say. It doesn't do well to keep a witch that doesn't care whether it lives or dies. That’s when people get killed. At least we’ll gain some money back in the arena, although I doubt this one will entertain them for long."

He opens his mouth to protest, but his colleague puts an arm around him and says softly: "Just look at him, Babe, he’s done.”

It's not like Babe hasn't noticed, in fact he’s probably the one who pays the most attention to the witches. The handlers don't care much about them when they aren't working with them, and the stable staff is only here to keep them alive, contained and fed, in that order. He has only started a few weeks ago, but he already knows his way around pretty well, knows who their handlers are and who likes what, knows to which cages he better keep a distance because their occupants tend to lash out.

And true, he has noticed that number 16 (only numbers for witches, never names, though some earn nicknames – Babe calls him The Quiet One in his head) doesn't pay much attention to his surroundings, or anything really. There’s an emptiness in those dark eyes that makes him shudder when he looks at them too long. And everybody’s certain that he never speaks, though whether that is because he'd been injured by a previous owner or whether he simply doesn't want to, no one knows. Because of this, he only ever gets the smaller jobs unworthy of more talented witches. But he’s never caused any trouble for Babe, and he has kind of grown on him unexpectedly.

“But he’s so young!” he bursts out. And so pretty, he thinks, but he doesn’t voice that one.

His colleague shrugs. “Some handlers go through ‘em fast. What do they think, witches grow on trees or something?”

That makes the stable master laugh, but Babe doesn’t feel like laughing at all.

His colleague lets go of him and nudges him in the ribs with her elbow. “Come on, don’t take it so hard. He’s just a witch.”

“Yeah”, Babe says, but he doesn’t look either of them in the eyes.

That night Babe stays late, long after his colleagues and the master have gone. Most of the cages are empty since there will be a big harvesting spell required in Quirm tomorrow, and he spends his time scrubbing them until they gleam. Then he sits down in a quiet corner to enjoy a late dinner. Quiet breathing fills the air as most of the witches are asleep. But when he turns his head, he catches a reflection in someone's eyes watching him, someone still as wide awake as himself.

"I'm sorry this is happening to you", he says quietly. "I really am." He gets no answer, as expected, but a slight tilt of the head indicates that he was at least understood.

Babe turns back to his unwrapped lunch, but suddenly he doesn't have much of an appetite anymore. He turns the apple in his hand. "Do you want this?"

He gets a wary look in return. Slowly he gets up, stashing the bread away for later (he can't afford to give away too much), and steps up to the cage. The moonlight falling through the window allows him to make out the shape of a man sitting with his back against the wall, his skin pale while his hair is as black as the darkness around him.

He crouches down on the other side of the bars and holds out the apple. "I promise I didn't poison it.” But the witch doesn't move.

And then Babe does something they hammered into him the very first day he started working here to never do: Never, ever, put anything of yourself through the bars of an occupied cage. (“The magic seals won't do you any good when you get your fingers blown off!”) But Babe has never proclaimed to be a particularly smart individual, and he tends to follow his gut feelings maybe more often than he should.

The witch still watches him carefully, and then he suddenly reaches out to take the apple from his hand. Their fingers brush together for the split of a second and Babe can feel the sparks of energy meet his fingertips and make the hairs on his arm rise up.

He pulls back so quickly he falls back on his ass, heart beating rapidly in his chest. It takes a few breaths for him to calm down again before he gets on his feet, dusting off his clothes to hide his embarrassment.

Then, following a sudden impulse, he says: "I don't think you're done yet."

The dark eyes follow him as he leaves.

“You sure you wanna watch this?” ,Bill asks after they have managed to force their way to the balustrade (well, mostly Bill had done the forcing and Babe had trailed behind like in the wake of a big ship.) “Thought you didn’t enjoy this much.”

“I don’t”, Babe admits as he squints down into the arena. The yellow sand gleams in the sun that’s burning out of a cloudless sky. “But it feels right, somehow.”

“Who’s he up against?” They search the board on the other wall for his number.

Babe groans loudly when he finds it. “Oh God, not that one.”

“Isn’t that, like, the third time she’s here?”

“Fourth. Trust me, I counted. Everybody who’s owned her wants to get rid of her. They can’t even find handlers who want to deal with her anymore.”

“They could just hang her.”

“But the crowds love her. And there’s money in that. Shit.”

Bill pats him on the shoulder. “Don’t take it so hard.”

Babe frowns at him. “Why do people keep telling me that?” He thinks for a moment, and then makes a decision. “I’ll be right back.”

“Babe! Where are you going?” Bill calls after him, but it’s already barely audible over the noise of the crowd.

This time Babe manages to get through the masses of people himself (if not quite the way Bill did, but his stature just doesn’t lend itself to shouldering his way through) and he reaches his destination just in time.

“Which one?” the man behind the counter asks without even an ounce of actual interest.

“Uh…number 16. All of this. Uh… I’m actually not quite sure how much that is”, he admits as he had emptied the contents of his pockets on the counter.

“We’ll count it”, the man says monotonously. As he fills out the betting slip, he hesitates on the line titled “Subject”. “You sure about that?” he asks.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m sure. Hurry up, man.”

He doesn’t even have to tell Bill what he’s done, he seems to see it on his face the moment he returns. “Please tell me you didn’t just do that.”

“What can I say, I have faith!”

“It took months for you to scrape together that money!”

Babe sighs. “Bill… you don’t understand.”

Bill shakes his head. “You’re right, I don’t.”

The first fights pass without Babe paying much attention. In truth, he doesn’t _want_ to pay attention. None of the other witches here are ones he knows, at least. But still this is the kind of fight where two people walk into the arena and one walks out – if they’re lucky.

After the first three fights, the air is smelling like ozone despite the seals that are supposed to keep any magic in the fighting area. Four witches are dead, and the golden sand is discolored by blood in multiple places.

“Here they come”, Bill mumbles and nudges Babe with his elbow to make him turn around.

Babe leans so far over the railing that Bill grabs the back of his tunic just in case. The other witch walks out first, and when she does the stadium almost explodes with noise. Babe has to admit she’s a terrific sight, with hair a blazing red, her white skin covered in runes and her mouth pulled into a snarl. She’s what every child imagine when they think of witches. There’s no number on the board since it keeps changing every time she’s sold, instead there was her only nickname – The Red Witch.

Babe squeezes Bill’s arm so tight it has to hurt.

In comparison to her the man walking through the opposite gate is unimposing, though the black hair contrasts nicely with his pale skin. His face is expressionless, though his posture is tense. Babe can’t see it from all the way up where he is, but he’s sure his eyes are still dark orbs, betraying nothing.

The fight starts with the sound of a gong.

There’s something animalistic about the Red Witch, but she knows how to use her magic like a weapon, shaping it carefully with every incantation intoned by her powerful voice to do her bidding.

He manages to block the first few of her attacks, sending blue sparks flying in all directions where the two energies meet. He isn’t moving from his position, just turning with her while she begins to circle around him like a lion stalking its prey.

“She wants to put him in a corner”, Bill mumbles, eyes fixed firmly on the fight below.

“Well, he’s not moving. That’s good, right?”

But the next time she gets lucky. A spell finds a way past his defenses and hits him with such an overwhelming force that it sends him straight into the wall behind him. There’s blood spattering on the sand. The audience cries out in excitement.

“Oh God”, Babe groans.

“I think you can say goodbye to your money, Babe”, Bill says quietly.

“It’s not about the money”, Babe replies through gritted teeth. He wants to look away, but forces himself to watch instead. “Please don’t be done, please”, he whispers under his breath.

There’s a murmur going through the audience as the dark-haired witch shakily gets back on his feet. The blood is barely visible on his dark outfit, but it’s running down his left hand and dripping onto the sand. His opponent lets him struggle, watching like a predator that’s confident the prey is hers. But that doesn’t last long.

The next time he is struck Babe actually winces out loud. The audience is torn, some exhilarated at her power, some bored by a fight that’s too easy. “Fight back, you idiot!” a guy behind Babe yells loudly.

And then – sfterwards nobody is quite sure what has happened. There’s no magic slowly appearing to be carefully controlled and turned into the desired shape. Instead, there’s blue sparks crackling as his hands turn into fists, then running up his arms, unbound energy that fills the air with a humming sound, the smell of ozone becoming overwhelming. There are no words to control it, just a direction. She raises a spell for protection, but she’s too slow – the strike knocks her off her feet and slams her into the wall behind.

The audience is so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

She doesn’t get back up.

“Holy shit, what the hell was that?” Bill asks loudly. Around him the air is quickly filled with similar questions. People turn towards one another to discuss what they’ve just seen, so Babe is one of the only people to see the dark-haired witch go to his knees.

“Oh no”, Babe says. It’s not uncommon for witches to die after they’ve won, simply because their magic is too depleted to keep them alive. “Uh, I’ll be right back!”

Later he’ll be amazed how enough false confidence gets you into places you have no actual right to be in. “He’s not shackled yet, what kind of idiot are you?” one of the guards yells after him, but he chooses to ignore him. It’s difficult to walk quickly in the sand, but he manages.

The witch is on his hands and knees on the sand, panting like he just ran a marathon. There’s still blood dripping down from the wound near his left shoulder and more marks on the rest of his skin. But he’s alive.

“Okay, just breathe, alright?” Babe says hurriedly as he crouches down next to him. “Just breathe. You’ll be okay. You did good. Very good.”

He glances towards the body on the other side. There’s no chance she’ll ever get up again.

The witch coughs and spits some more blood into the sand. But when he turns his head to look at Babe, he is smiling.


End file.
